


The Boiling Frog

by irishluff



Category: Doctor Who
Genre: F/M, Introspection, Year That Never Was
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-05-25
Updated: 2012-05-25
Packaged: 2017-11-09 15:16:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,101
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/456936
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/irishluff/pseuds/irishluff
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The shower is an excellent place to let the mind wander...</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Boiling Frog

_"If you drop a frog in a pot of boiling water, it will of course frantically try to clamber out. But if you place it gently in a pot of tepid water and turn the heat on low, it will float there quite placidly. As the water gradually hears up, the frog will sink into a tranquil stupor, exactly like one of us in a hot bath, and before long, with a smile on its face, it will unresistingly allow itself to be boiled to death."_

_-Daniel Quinn, The Story of B_

 

\---

 

 _This'll do,_ thought Lucy, examining the tiny shower with lazy eyes. Of course, she had her own bathroom in her and the Master's quarters, but there was no guarantee of privacy. Usually, the threat of him barging in wasn't much of an issue. Today though, she was tired. She wanted to take her time without constantly checking over her shoulder to make sure the doorknob didn't move. So, she'd grabbed two of the pristine white towels out of her own pristine white bathroom, and walked down to the only other shower she knew of; unfortunately in the maids' quarters. It wasn't pretty. It wasn't spacious. It wasn't even particularly clean. However, the servants were all working, so it was private, and that was really all Lucy was asking for at the moment.

 

Quickly, she stripped herself of her fine clothes and jewelry, leaving it in a pile on the floor, and turned on the water. Without waiting for the water to heat, she stepped under the stream. The shock of the frigid water was mildly unpleasant, but it didn't take long for the water heater to take effect and the temperature to gradually rise. The water was set to about one third heat, a perfectly reasonable level, so Lucy closed her eyes and let the cool water run over her. After waiting a bit, though the water was a very content temperature, Lucy still felt a chill. The water was cozy and safe, and if felt like she was freezing to death. With force, she took the knob in her hand and twisted sharply. The water heater soon caught up, and Lucy inhaled sharply at the sudden heat assaulting her skin. The initial shock only lasted a few seconds before Lucy adjusted to the scalding water.

 

Of course it hurt, Lucy just didn't care. Besides, this was a controlled pain. One twist of the knob and it could go away, or become more intense. All she had to do was decide to adjust it. Somehow, knowing Lucy had ultimate control over the thing causing her pain made it completely bearable. So, she stood under the stream and smiled as it burned her. She tilted her head back and let the water flow over her face for a number of minutes. After a few moments, she had the funny realization that she could start crying at any moment and no one, provably not even herself, would know. She could be crying right then, but standing in this stream, unsure of where her body ended and the water began, and she'd never know it. If she didn't know it, it stood to reason no one else did either. He couldn't punish her for it.

 

Despite the fuzziness of it all, something about this moment felt incredibly real. The individual beads pounding on her eyelids, water streaming around her nose and making every breath take effort, the gentle burning of her entire body was all so present and lovely, despite how badly it might hurt. After another moment of this, she pulled one of the towels she'd brought off the floor, soaked it, and draped it over her face. She inhaled a few times, then pulled the cloth down her face until it was off, rough fibers not quite bringing pain, but definitely being very obvious. When she looked down at the formerly-white towel, it was smeared with color. Black smudges from her mascara and eyeliner, bright red splotches of lipstick, and subtle pink blush all decorated the cloth, but most prominent was the endless tan, brought on by the endless layers of concealer and foundation she used to painstakingly hide the bruises.

 

For a few moments, Lucy pondered the towel in her hands, noting the vague patterns and splotches her makeup. In the end, this was all her defenses were. She could paint herself a truly impressive mask, a whole new face, but in the end it could all come off with a little scrubbing and water. What was she in the end? All the symbols of her power she held so dearly were gone as she stood her, naked and alone in a shower the maids used. She was almost regretting coming to this room, but what difference could it have possibly made? The only difference between her own shower and this one was a few square feet, fancy tiles, and expensive soap. More petty status symbols that were easily thrown away. As she was currently demonstrating, this was a perfectly functioning shower. All it lacked was flash. In a world where everything she had loved turned out to be smoke and mirrors, the gritty realness of the maids' quarters was reassuring.

 

It was then that she realized the intense heat of the water no longer bothered Lucy in the least. Despite the scalding temperatures, she'd managed to get used to it. She frowned. Though there was some rational part of her brain that was shrinking from the heat, Lucy had gotten very good at ignoring rationality. Again, she twisted sharply on the knob. The result was instantaneous. Hot as flames, water poured over her skin, and though she practically felt like she was being boiled, she just felt so deliciously _alive_. It was a glorious feeling. Pointless, really, but wasn't everything? She was still queen, she had certain privileges. One of those was engaging in frivolities others had no time for, like turning up the temperature of the shower until it practically burned you alive.

 

Of course it didn't matter. Lucy could scrub herself to the bone with the most expensive soaps in the world and turn up the water until her skin melted off, she would never actually be clean. The blood staining her hands would be there no matter what she did. No one could see it, but Lucy knew it was there. In another state of mind, she would've laughed at the lie of the water, seeming so clean as it ran down her skin and into the drain it was such an untruth. If the water was at all honest, it would run the deepest shade of crimson. For a normal person, this would probably bring guilt, or at the very least, anxiety. For Lucy it just brought comfort. To have the blood of everyone she'd even known or loved staining her hands was a wonderful feeling. She was above them, she was above everything, quite literally. Every drop of their blood spilled landed directly on her conscience, and Lucy didn't even care. And no matter how hard her husband hit her, it wouldn't change the fact that at one point they'd shared the carnage. As long as she still knew that and she was still breathing to enjoy the victory, Lucy could deal with the blood of millions staining her hands. At least that was real. No tricks, no lies, just the comforting inevitability of death.

 

Without a thought, Lucy turned the knob of the water even higher. More blistering, burning pain, and she welcomed it. The hotter the water got, the more she felt, and these days that was something of a blessing. Despite her recent clearheadedness, Lucy was numb. Her complete loss of hope had rendered her strangely apathetic, even if her attention was occasionally captured. To feel this controlled, self-inflicted pain sharpened the clarity in her mind, and she liked that. The clarity in her head had become a necessary part of her being, on that allowed her to see so much. 

 

Had anyone told the naïve little girl she first boarded this terrible ship as what her future held, she wouldn't have believed them. After all, this kind of blood and pain and clarity was something completely foreign to her. She thought she knew the extent of her husband's tendency towards violence after watching the Toclafane descend. How was she to know how personally she'd come to know his rage? It almost made her laugh to look back and think of who she used to be. Her head was so foggy then, a haze of pointless ideas and stupid thoughts clouding it. Now, with her apathetic ideas and acceptance of life's futility, all the white noise had settled into dust and left her with a clarity so sharp it was practically painful. Like the water though, it was a good sort of pain, and Lucy welcomed it gratefully.

 

For a very long time, Lucy stood under the burning water and emptied her mind, thinking of nothing but the feeling of the water pounding against her skin. The Master was probably wondering where she was by now, she'd been gone a very long time. He'd be angry with her for wandering off, and he'd probably call her ungrateful for not using her own bathroom, but she couldn't be bothered to care. This wasn't a bad enough crime to warrant him hitting her, surely. Besides, there was the very real possibility he hadn't even noticed her disappearance. In the past few months, Lucy had become not much more than the Master's shadow, a ghost, and most ignored her. He had never treated her as invisible before, but she knew he had bigger things to worry about than his silly human wife. There were always more important things to do, even when those things were nothing. In his eyes, anything trumped showing concern for her. At least while the sun was up. He was perfectly lovely once night fell. Though she knew it was silly, she lived for the nights she always knew she was safe.

 

Lucy was about to shut off the water and dry herself when she realized other than washing her face, she hadn't actually done any actual washing. With impressive speed a sharp contrast to her idle, slow movements of before, Lucy massaged shampoo and conditioner her hair and finished her other cleanliness rituals. When she was finished, a peculiar urge hit her. She glanced at the knob, then gripped it in her hands and gave it the most forceful turn yet. This time, though, she twisted the other way and brought the temperature down to nearly the lowest setting. Once the water caught up with her instructions, it was all Lucy could do not to let out a scream. The cold hit her like a giant weight and sharp shockwaves of pain flew down her legs. For the first moments after changing the water, she found herself barely able to breathe in the new, suffocatingly cold conditions. Her muscles, still shocked after the sudden change, felt weak. Lucy pressed her fingers and forehead up against the wall, letting the frigid water run against her legs, and nearly laughed. After everything, something as simple as a little cold water could still have such a profound effect on her body, near the point of screaming and buckling knees. For all the show she put on of being strong, she could still be bested by something as simple as water. How funny.

 

Sucking in her breath sharply, Lucy went back under the water just long enough to shut off the flow of water. Once again freezing, she quickly pulled her remaining dry towel around her body. It didn't help though. Nothing could possibly help. Her soul was frozen and cold, it only fit that her body now matched. The time she spent burning herself under the water had been only skin deep, and while the slight warmth was comforting, it was temporary. Really, she should just start taking cold showers. It would be much more fitting than what she'd just done, trying to envelope herself in artificial warmth. Somehow through the year, she had become a cold person and not amount of time in the shower could change that. But really, why should she want to be warm again? The cold lacked a lot of things, but it had clarity, it had realness, and most importantly, it had her husband. And sometimes, late at night when she was curled in his arms, he was almost enough to make her feel warm.


End file.
